


The way things might have gone

by orphan_account



Category: Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Angst, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Implied unrequited Joker/Batman, M/M, Smut, Top Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yet another 'what if instead of Superman killing the Joker he had sex with Batman' AUAs hard as Superman tries he can't find the Joker and when he confronts Batman over it Batman has already taken care of it. It is done, over, the Joker is never going to hurt anyone ever again and without revenge to distract him Superman needs Batman more than ever to keep him from falling into despair.





	The way things might have gone

Man of steel, man of heart,

Turn your ear to my part

There are things you have said

Raise the boat and raise the dead

If you take us away

Still we can say:

Only a steel man can be a lover

If he had hands to tremble all over

We’d celebrate our sense of each other

We’d have a lot to give one another

\- Sufjan Stevens, “The Man of Metropolis steals our hearts”

 

In the darkness of the Batcave there was a sudden flicker of red and blue.

“Bruce.” Superman’s voice is dark.

“Clark!” Batman turns away from the screen of the Bat Computer on which a bright red line marks the man of steel’s crisscrossed path across Gotham City.

“I can’t find him Bruce.” The Kryptonian walks slowly towards him, his cape settling slowly around his shoulders. “I can’t _find_ him.”

“I know Clark, I know.” The Batman gets up from the console and walks towards him. “I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“Where is he Bruce?” Superman’s voice grows sharper. “Where did you hide him?!”

Batman grabs him by the arm. Superman was like a living, breathing Greek Sculpture; his form was perfect, beautiful even, but when you touched it you could feel the strength in it that marked it as something other than human. Though perhaps that was just the detective in him.

“He’s gone Clark. It’s over.”

Tension fades from the Kryptonian’s limbs. Batman moves his hand further up his arm and touches their foreheads together.

“He’s never going to hurt you or anyone else again. I made sure of it.”

“For me.” The man of steel whispers.

“For you, for Lois, for Metropolis.” Batman whispers back. “Clark…I am so sorry. I should have acted sooner. I should have stopped this. It’s my fault.”

Whatever twisted string of hatred had been keeping him going comes undone and the man of steel sinks to his knees. He curls his arms around his closest friend as the tears start to run down his cheeks.

“They’re gone Bruce.” Superman says almost to himself.

“You are not alone.” Batman strokes the hair as durable as steel wires. “This isn’t Krypton. Your friends are here for you. I’m here for you.”

Superman’s arms tighten around his shoulders and Batman is dragged across the floor and onto his lap.

“Clark…” Batman softly inquires.

Superman reaches up and places one hand on the cowl. A halo of electricity plays briefly and harmlessly around his fingers. The very expensive electronics crack and spark as he peels back the cowl like he is opening a can.

“Clark.” Batman sighs at the destruction of his cowl. He would have taken it off if Superman had asked him.

“Bruce please…Please, I need this.” Superman whispers in reply and licks a hot stripe up Batman’s neck to behind his ear.

Batman’s breath catches in his throat. This isn’t the first time Superman had held him close enough for his heartbeat to hum in his chest and his body ache to kiss him and keep kissing until he ran out of breath, but it’s the first time that Superman has been openly inviting him to bed. He knows what is happening. His friend is seeking out a brief burst of endorphins to drown his grief and has gone to the only man he trusts to provide it. Batman knows that pain; drowning his own sorrows in meaningless sex was the reason Bruce Wayne got a playboy reputation in the first place.

“Clark, stop.” He orders.

Superman flinches back as if burned and Batman catches his arm before he can let go and flee.

“Not here, in the cave.” He clarifies and curls his arms around the Kryptonian’s neck. “Upstairs, in the bedroom. Clark needs Bruce more than Superman needs Batman right now.”

The blur of motion takes less than a second, less time than blinking, and he is on his back on the bed. He rolls off and strips off the crushed cowl. Clark is already naked and watching him strip with obvious enjoyment.

Bruce rolls his eyes at Clark’s expression as he bends over to pull off his boots. He leaves the suit on the floor and sits next to him. Clark gently cups his face and softly rubs the thumb over Bruce’s cheek. Bruce leans in and mashes their lips together. One of Clark’s hands tightens in his hair, the other curl around his back to press their bodies together.

Their tongues lap together, hot and wet and urgent.

Kryptonian society hadn’t relied on natural birth in millennia, resulting in an evolutionary shift towards pansexuality that affected even an earth-raised Kryptonian. Bruce knew Clark’s upbringing hadn’t changed the openness with which he viewed humanity; out of the whole world Clark needed _him_. He just wished he could be as open with Clark as Clark was with him. For now at least he couldn’t pretend he didn’t need the man of steel as much as he needed him.

Oh Clark, Clark, my shining beacon of hope, what has he done to you?

Bruce presses his bare body firmly against Clark’s to feel the warmth of skin against his skin.

My sunshine, my angel, he may break your wings, but I will never let you fall. I will hold you up from the shadows and return you to the light. You will rise again, I promise. You will rise.

He wraps his arms around Clark’s neck and runs his fingers through his hair.

I’m here Clark. I’m here. I won’t let you fall.

His mouth is so warm for someone who could breathe ice and his tongue was so slick. They were melting into each other.

“Clark…” He gasps as he breaks the kiss for breath. Clark’s fingers glide across his shoulders. “Part your legs.”

“Hm?” Clark asks as Bruce shimmies of the bed but does as asked.

Bruce kneels in front him and Clark’s heartbeat stutters in his chest. Surely a third of Gotham has dreamed of the sight in front of him. Bruce rests his head against Clark’s inner thigh and breathes out a warm sigh.

“Bruce, you don’t have to…” Clark starts to say.

Bruce cuts him off by gliding his tongue up the shaft of Clark’s cock.

“I want to.” He tells Clark. His breath tingles on his partner’s skin.

Clark bites back a small embarrassingly aroused sound. Bruce smirks and starts off slow. Using his tongue and his hands he methodically goes through motions until he finds the ones that make Clark’s breath stutter. When Bruce takes Clark’s length in his mouth and pulls a hot gasp from the Kryptonian’s lips he finds where Clark’s hand is tightening on the sheets and redirects it to his hair.

Clark gasps and buries his fingers in Bruce’s dark hair, taking a tighter grip than he intends as Bruce’s tongue glides up and down his length. He moans.

“Br-Bruce, stop it, please.” He stutters. “You’re going to make me…”

Bruce lets his spit-licked erection fall from his lips. It stands proudly erect against the curve of the Kryptonian’s stomach.

“How do you want me?” He asks and climbs onto Clark’s lap.

Clark’s hands immediately go to Bruce’s waist to steady him; Bruce’s hands go to his hair and Clark’s erection slips against Bruce’s back. Clark feels his breath stuttering as Bruce’s erection rubs up against his stomach. On impulse he closes the distance between their lips for another hot and heavy kiss. The sensation of Bruce kissing him back reassures him, keeps his mind from heading to the dark places.

He drags his hands down Bruce’s back, feeling the muscle, feeling the scars under his fingertips. So many scars…

“Bruce.” He gasps as he breaks the kiss and can’t find the words. “Bruce, I…”

Bruce stops him with a light kiss.

“Do whatever you want with me, I’m here for you.” He says softly. “There are condoms in the first drawer, special.”

Clark gently lays him back on the bed and checks the drawer.

“I thought your belt was supposed to be the thing that held everything.” He jokes.

Bruce sighs.

“If you need me to start carrying condoms in your size every time I patrol I will.” He says patiently but there is a mischievous smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. “But I would prefer advance warning if you’re planning on making a booty call.”

Clark slips on one of the condoms and feels the faint tingle of trace amount of kryptonite, not enough to do any harm but enough for him to feel a bit more human.

“Bruce, is it really alright, the two of us doing this...?” He starts to say. Bruce puts a finger over his lips.

“No talking, no thinking, just sex.” Bruce tells him. “You need the endorphins.”

Clark gently pushes him down on his back and climbs on top of him so they can see each other. He presses their lips together, desperate, passionate, and greedy.

Bruce moans into his mouth, wrapping comforting arms around him and running his fingers through Clark’s hair. His erection is proud against the curves of his stomach as Clark parts his legs.

The expression on Bruce’s face was pure playboy, smug as a cat getting the cream. It makes Clark want him even more. He wants to see that self-satisfied look be replaced by a panting, moaning mess.

His fingers ghost over the taut curves of Bruce’s stomach as he slowly pushes in. For someone with such a cold personality Bruce’s body was incredibly warm. He gasps a hot needy sound as Clark presses in and a surge of possessiveness runs down the Kryptonian’s spine. Bruce’s body is warm and welcoming as it cradles his cock, the billionaire’s arms twined lovingly around his shoulders and his honest moans of loud arousal in Clark’s ears as he thrust in.

There was a point where the charming and flirtatious socialite faded, when even the calm and controlled vigilante failed as he was left with Bruce, just Bruce, naked and vulnerable in his arms. There were plenty who had loved the socialite, even those who had loved the vigilante but Bruce, just Bruce, was an honour just to experience. Clark loved to see his soft and tender heart, so afraid but so boundlessly full of love, here and bared for him alone.

He knows that when this moment is over Bruce will be back making excuses about grief responses and hormone levels, but for the one glorious second where they melt into each other’s arms there is nothing but love and them panting on the bedsheets.

As the haze fades Clark notices the red marks he has left on the billionaire’s pale skin.

“Bruce…I hurt you.” He realizes with a start as he notes the blooming bruises in the shapes of his fingers. “No…Bruce I am so sorry!”

“Clark Kent.” Bruce growls and Clark pauses at the rare sign of him using his Batman voice without the cowl. “I am the world’s greatest detective; do not think for a moment that I wouldn’t have stopped you if I didn’t want it.”

He presses down on one of the purpling bruises.

“I can endure this much.” He hisses. “This pain is nothing compared to the pain you feel.”

“Yes Bruce, sorry Bruce.” Clark sheepishly replies.

Bruce kisses him, softly, tenderly.

“It’s okay Clark. I’m here.” His voice drops back into something soft and loving.

Clark pulls the cape around him; the red of the Kryptonian cloth is bright against the paleness of Bruce’s skin.

“Rao, you are beautiful.” He whispers and touches their foreheads together.

“Clark, I need you to do something, it is very important, in fact I am ordering you. Mourn.”

“Mourn?” Clark mutters.

“<Kal-El, your heart is too full of grief.>” Bruce speaks in Kryptonian. “<Cleanse the wound of sorrow, for only then may it begin to heal. If you let your loss fester your heart will rot away.>” He drops back into English. “We already have one Batman too many.”

Clark smiles.

“I disagree. I think the world has the perfect amount of you in it.” He touches his forehead to Bruce’s.

“The ideal world wouldn’t have any Batman.” Bruce mutters to himself.

“How about Bruce Wayne?” Clark mutters back and kisses his cheek.

A genuine smile crosses Bruce’s lips.

“There’s room for one Bruce Wayne.” He kisses Clark back. “And he has work to do.”

“Right, right.” Clark unwraps Bruce from the cape.

“I’m here for you Clark. You are not alone.” Bruce presses their foreheads together.

“I know.” Clark breathes out slowly. “It helps.”

There is a flash and Clark is once again dressed. The cowl is too crushed to operate but Bruce gets dressed with no further trouble. He draws himself back up, still recognizably, irrevocably Batman even without it.

He reaches into a pocket of his belt.

“Here.” Batman hands Superman a block of clear plastic.

“What’s this?” Superman takes it and holds it up to the light.

The block contains a human heart, perfectly preserved down the smallest detail.

“Proof. You can test it if you want.”

Superman laughs.

“I don’t know why, I was expecting it to be black.” He says and hands the block back to Batman. “I trust you Bruce.”

“I’ll send it to Harley then, she’s been after it for long enough.” Batman slips the block back into his pocket and wraps his arms around Superman’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“There are five types of mourners in this world Clark, and both you and I are the fifth type. We’re activists, we have to go out and act. Go out there and change the world Clark. Put out some fires, dam some floods or help a lost child find their parents. Show the world there’s still hope.” He tells him.

Superman holds him tightly.

“Thank you Bruce. For everything.” He says and with a flash he is gone.

Batman waits for a solid minute, feeling the weight of the block in his pocket, before he returns to the cave. He walks to an otherwise nondescript section of the cave wall. Even Superman’s microscopic vision wouldn’t have noticed anything different about it but when Batman lays his palm on it the wall splits apart.

He walks slowly down the corridor as defences deactivate as he approaches and reactivate behind him. Lead, kryptonite of varying hues, anti-speed force energy fields, a wide variety of inventive runes bartered from Klarion the Witch Boy, and a lot of guns, to start with.

Paranoid, maybe, but the Batman knew these defences will surely grow.

The final door opens with a pneumatic hiss and the soundproof barrier parts to admit the sound of harsh, barked laughter.

Good, the prisoner should be awake for this.

“You have Hush to thank for the idea.” Batman says as he checks over the electronics. “Though of course he got the idea from you, so it might be more appropriate to say it has come full circle.”

He places his hand over the machine that now fills the hole in the clown’s bare chest. A web of tubing pumps in nutrients and siphons away waste.

“Without this you will die.” He says simply. “I hope you appreciate the gesture. After all you were always a heartless man, weren’t you?”

A silence follows his words.

“What, no laughter? And here I thought this was what you wanted, my attention. You’re a creature of impulse, you see something beautiful and you have to destroy it, but you failed. He isn’t broken. The world moves on.”

Metal clinks as his captive struggles in his bindings.

“He wants to know why you did it, you know, why _him,_ what did he do to you for you to hate him so much, but we know the truth don’t we, it was never about him. You know I love him, that’s why you tried to take him from me and you _failed._ He is still this world’s hope, my hope.”

Batman laughs.

“I’ve been building this place for a while now, I always knew I would give up on Arkham eventually, but I never thought I’d have the guts to follow through. Now I have it seems so easy. I will be back tomorrow to check on you. After that, who knows? I might be too busy.”

He turns to look at the limbless clown suspended in his web of machinery.

“I should have cut out your tongue years ago.” He says and the Joker starts to laugh a low, desperate and despairing sound.

The closing door cuts it off and Batman breathes out as he walks away from the Joker and steps into the light.

 ------

“In my dream the world had suffered a great disaster. A dark haze shut out the sun, and the darkness was alive with the moans and screams of wounded people.

Suddenly, a small light glowed. A candle flickered into life, symbol of hope for millions. A single tiny candle, shining in the ugly dark.

I laughed, and blew it out.”

\- Patient J’s Casefile, from the desk of Jeremiah Arkham


End file.
